


Home Is Where You Are

by goldandguns



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandguns/pseuds/goldandguns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s been in the architecture business for years. He’s known how to turns derelict buildings into houses, and houses into homes. When Arthur’s new employee turns up, Arthur’s not quite sure what to make of him. All he knows is that Merlin wears odd clothes, has an odd sense of humour, and drinks way too much coffee. And has a way of making Arthur think about the real questions, such as what is it that really makes a house a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Ines for the beautiful fanwork.  
> To Yvonne; for being simply wonderful and being there from beginning to end, to Aly; a star, my rock, and the best tumblr mother a girl could ask for.  
> Here’s to you.

1.  
The waves crash against one another, the smell of salt strong and mingling in the air. The sea is angry, and violent, and a mysterious shade of blue, dulling the sky down in comparison, a pale blue, broken up with grey clouds.  
And down by the sea, below the pier, standing resolutely with his back to the world, is Arthur, his scarf pulled tightly around him, his coat buttoned up to the top. His hair is damp from the crashes of the waves and his face is pale from the cold, but he continues to stand there until he cannot see the strewn ashes at all. All that he can see of the water is the reflection of the moon.  
Arthur awakes to sunlight drenching his bedroom with colour, and he sits up in bed, watching the colours turn to rainbows as they hit the glass furniture, just as he had planned it when he had decorated the house. But the colours seem duller than he had hoped, or perhaps that is because everything seems dull to Arthur now. Everything makes him feel numb and empty.  
Unable to stand his own brooding, Arthur makes his way to the en-suite, emerging half an hour later wrapped in a towel, He pads over to his wardrobe, where the contents are colour co-ordinated and placed in order of season and picks out a white fitted shirt and a grey tie; Arthur dresses smart no matter what the weather. Picking up the grey sweater already draped over his chair, he goes downstairs for breakfast, pausing momentarily outside a room, the door firmly shut. Swallowing hard, he heads to the kitchen for a mug of coffee, before leaving the house.

2.  
Merlin loved trains. Or rather, he loved catching them, and seeing - if not meeting - the variety of people that would board it. At this hour of the morning, they were usually all the same; businessmen and women who preferred the company of a copy of The Guardian and a flask of coffee than the company of people themselves. Merlin never quite understood what it was with businesspeople and coffee, but then he wasn’t really one to talk, being a coffeeholic himself.  
Today was different. As he threw himself into the only seat available, the person opposite him did not take the time to peer at Merlin over the top of his newspaper and glare at him and his brightly coloured scarf. He, in fact, did not have a newspaper in hand, but an iPod, and was gazing intently at whatever was on the screen. Merlin surveyed him while he could, before anyone could notice him ogling. His blonde hair had the appearance of someone who attempted to keep it neat, but no matter what they did, the wind always had its way with it. Other than that, everything else about him seemed as though it had had an iron run through it, which, Merlin mused, he probably had.  
“Hi,” he eventually managed to say. He wasn’t really used to talking to anyone on his train trips. “I’m Merlin.”  
Merlin’s sort-of-companion looked up through his long lashes, his blue eyes taking in Merlin’s appearance, and finally resting on his scarf. Merlin groaned inwardly. Maybe today wasn’t any different, after all.  
The man raised an eyebrow, and his eyes flicked back to meet Merlin’s.  
“Arthur.”  
Arthur leant forward, the smell of his aftershave lingering between the two of them.  
“Who the hell,” he said, his voice low. “Would name their son Merlin?”  
Merlin rolled his eyes and pretended to look offended.  
“You weren’t complaining when I saved your life with my magical prowess, my Lord.”  
Arthur chuckled, causing Merlin’s stomach to flip like a pancake. He had pointed teeth like a cat, and Merlin had to stop himself from thinking about the imaginable things those lips and teeth could do.  
It was suddenly very hot on the train, too hot for Merlin’s liking, and when it slid to a stop, he shot to his feet and gabbled, “This is my stop,” and stepped out of the train to realise that this wasn’t his stop at all, and he didn’t have the faintest idea where he was.  
The rest of the journey was quiet, which Arthur liked, under the normal circumstances. But now, he found it harder and harder to concentrate on reading ‘Boy Meets Boy’ and he could only think it was because of the babbling man sitting opposite of him minutes before that had broken his concentration. He sighed, switched his iPod to music instead, plugged his earphones in and dropped his head back, letting the music wash over him. Even then, he kept wondering what it was about this idiot, other than his stupid name, that made Arthur wish that he hadn’t stepped off of the train.  
Despite his more-eventful-than-usual journey, Arthur made it to work on time. He was greeted by the usual wave of ‘Good morning, Mr Pendragon’ by co-workers and strangers alike. Arthur always felt at ease at work, surrounded by familiarity and routine. It was the one place where his personal life did not exist.  
He caught an empty lift up to the main meeting room of ArchiPen, an architecture firm that was handed down from father to son and now belonged to Arthur. The room was already filled with familiar faces, yet Arthur’s forehead still creased.  
“Where’s the new designer?”  
Everyone looked up and turned to face the woman who was seated on the left of the empty chair at the head of the table, which was evidently Arthur’s.  
“He’ll be here soon, Arthur, he’s just running late.”  
“Running late?” echoed Arthur, seating himself in the empty chair. “This firm does not stand for tardiness, and you told me he’s one of the best, Gwen.” His tone was accusatory.  
Gwen rolled her eyes and took a sip of water. She alone seemed to be the only one that wasn’t fazed by the presence of Arthur; everyone else looked tense and on the edge of their seats.  
“Your father said he’s one of the best, not me.”  
Arthur’s shoulders hunched, and Gwen backtracked.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I just meant-”  
“Sorry! Am I late?”  
Arthur tore his eyes away from his clenched fists to see Merlin of all people standing at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  
“Oh God,” Arthur sank into his seat and let his head fall into his hands. Merlin’s eyes followed the voice, and they lit up where he saw who it was.  
“Arthur!” he exclaimed breathlessly, and Arthur felt that twinge in his stomach, the same one that he had felt when he had noticed Merlin watching him on the train from the corner of his eye.  
Arthur stood up and strode over to Merlin, leading him out and ushering him into his office.  
“You can’t be the designer, there must be some mistake.” Arthur let his eyes rake over Merlin’s dishevelled black hair, the Santa red neck scarf and a bright blue short sleeved t shirt and decided that he wouldn’t even be able to colour coordinate a funeral, let alone Arthur’s latest project.  
Merlin’s brow furrowed.  
“This is ArchiPen, isn’t it? I was assigned by Uther Pendragon, but I thought that the proposal was still to go through…?”  
“It is, it is, it’s just…” Arthur didn’t know what it was about Merlin that rang warning bells, telling him to fire Merlin while there were no consequences. There was just something about Merlin that Arthur couldn’t put his finger on, and he didn’t want to hang around to find out, really.  
Merlin’s face was suddenly sombre.  
“I heard about your father’s passing. My uni professor and your father were friends,” he added when he saw a look of confusion on Arthur’s face. “I’m sorry.”  
“Yes, well.” Arthur’s voice was gruff; he didn’t want to talk about this, least of all at work, and even less so with Merlin. Merlin noticed his discomfort, and knew to drop the subject.  
“So… is anyone going to brief me on this job, or am I going to have to figure it out for myself?”  
Arthur sat down and Merlin followed suit, slowly spinning on the chair, a grin playing on his face. Arthur could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and coughed quietly to remind Merlin that he was there at all.  
“It was my father’s wish,” Arthur began softly, watching Merlin slow to a stop. “To build a house. For me. As a gift, for my birthday. And, well… you know the rest.”  
It was cancer that had killed Uther. Cancer, one of the slowest forms of dying, and Arthur had never noticed, never bothered to notice. He had always thought, always taken for granted, that his father would always be there. Strict, old fashioned, and stubborn, but always there. But Uther was only human, like everyone else, and the time had come for him to leave the burden of the family business, his worldly possessions, and Arthur, behind.  
Arthur had not realised that there were tears coursing down his cheeks until he spotted Merlin handing him tissues, a look of sadness spreading on his face.  
“Look, I’m not crying, okay? It’s just… my hay fever.”  
Merlin snorted. “Alright, Tracy Beaker, keep your frizzy wig on.”  
“I do not watch Tracy Beaker!” Arthur replied indignantly, heat rising to his cheeks. Merlin raised an eyebrow. “My niece makes me watch it with her. Happy? Anyway, what’s your excuse?” he asked smugly, cocking his head to one side. Merlin shrugged.  
“Me and Will watch it when there’s nothing else on.” Arthur was slightly surprised by how nonchalant Merlin was, and decided that working with him might be – if not anything else - slightly interesting.

3.  
Arthur was back by the sea, which had calmed down since he had last been here. He had visited this place for as long as he could remember, but he had not been here accompanied since his mother died, and that was a long time ago. So where Arthur stopped in his tracks and Merlin pulled up beside him, warmth emitting from him, Arthur felt as though there was no one else he would rather share this place and moment with, even if it was for work purposes. Which he then realised was ridiculous because he’d only just met Merlin, he didn’t even know if Merlin was an axe murderer or something equally crazy like that. Although he was sure that an axe murderer would not be gazing at the sea with such wonder in his eyes and fumbling through the pockets of his parka jacket to find his phone.  
“No photos. Please?” Arthur’s hand was on Merlin’s, a gesture to stop him from clicking the button, but Arthur’s skin felt as though it was on fire, and Merlin must’ve felt it too, because he nodded, and stowed the phone away swiftly.  
They continued to stand there, listening to the waves calling out to them. It was so calm, so serene - that was why Arthur loved it here.  
“I used to come here with my mother.” Arthur didn’t know why he’d said it. He’d never even told his father, although he suspected that Ygraine told him everything, and that was how he knew that Arthur would love to have a house built here. But he wanted to share this with Merlin, let him know why it was special. Merlin turned to face Arthur, who was still looking out at the water.  
“When father was at work, and I was too young for school, we’d spend the entire day here. We’d build sandcastles, and read, and have picnics. And then, at the end of the day, we’d sit and wait. We’d wait until the air was cold, and the water would rile up, and then, the sun would begin to set, and it was like an explosion of reds and orange and every colour you could think of reflecting off the water, and… it was magic.”  
“Beautiful,” was all Arthur heard Merlin say, and he wasn’t sure if he’d meant the story, or the place as a whole, or even himself, because when Arthur turned to face Merlin, there was a halo of light around his messy hair, and his face was paler than is humanly possible, and his lips were chapped from the cold, but he was here, and Arthur felt as though he’d understood.  
So when Arthur felt the warmth of Merlin’s lips pressing against his, his gloved hands on Arthur’s waist, he wasn’t sure why he was so surprised, because he had understood, hadn’t he, and this was the perfect location for such a romantic moment that it was inevitable to happen, but it couldn’t because this was Merlin, Arthur’s employee, and he didn’t even know who he was - yet.  
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say before walking away, leaving Merlin alone to watch the sunset.

4.  
Arthur knew it was Merlin knocking on his office door before he’d even had the chance to say ‘enter’, and for some reason this brought him discomfort, probably because they would end up talking, and that would mean bringing a part of his personal life into his workplace, and that was something that Arthur didn’t want.  
The knocking stopped after a minute, and after wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers, Arthur stood up and walked over to the door, to spot a sheet of paper on the floor, which must’ve been slipped through the crack at the bottom. He flipped it over, revealing a painting of the setting sun reflecting into the sea and, small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the sea, was Arthur, his hair blowing in the direction of the wind, his posture stiff and exactly Arthur. On the bottom right hand corner, was a tiny scrawl of ‘Don’t be sorry. M’.

5.  
Work was easier than Arthur had thought. It was as though the kiss hadn’t happened at all, and maybe it hadn’t, because Arthur’s memories of it now had a dream like quality to them, but he knew it couldn’t be a dream because of the picture Merlin had painted him. That made it real.  
In the workplace, Merlin was his bumbling self; always eager, always friendly, always willing to help. It was a pleasant change, Arthur thought, having Merlin around. He had quickly befriended Arthur’s secretary Gwen, and Merlin would sit at her desk during their lunch breaks and talk about… about… Arthur didn’t know what they could possibly talk about, since they had nothing in common, but Arthur never approached them to find out. He liked to keep a neutral relationship with all of his employees, regardless of his relationship with them in his personal life.  
“Arthur.”  
Arthur looked up from his paperwork to see Morgana already seated opposite him, a smirk on her face that only meant that she was here to weasel something out of Arthur. Arthur sighed, clasping his hands in front of him.  
“Yes, Morgana? What is it?”  
If Arthur could pick a job for Morgana, it would be modelling. Incredibly stylish and incredibly beautiful, Morgana would put other models to shame. Arthur had suggested it once, but Morgana scoffed at the thought. Modelling, Morgana said, is the idealisation of the perfect woman. It’s degrading and you’re out of a job by the time you hit 25.  
But the idea was gone once Morgana met Gwaine, her long term partner, and had a daughter. Morgana was ferociously loyal at the idea of keeping things within the family, and began to work at ArchiPen alongside Arthur. Which he was grateful for, of course, apart from the fact that Morgana was the opposite of Arthur, and loved to talk about personal things no matter where she was, including at work.  
“I’ve met Merlin. Lovely bloke. Have you seen those cheekbones? I bet God descended down on him and chiselled them himself.”  
Arthur had noticed Merlin’s cheekbones, although he didn’t admit it. He had noticed a lot of things about Merlin; everything about him was prominent. His large ears, his cheekbones, as Morgana had mentioned, his plump red lips, his Adam’s apple, those bony fingers, his collarbone, the dark hair on his arms…  
“Arthur? Are you listening to me?”  
Arthur shook his head and looked at Morgana.  
“Y-Yes, I’m listening. So you just came to tell me you’ve met the designer? Would you like a plaque put up now or later?”  
“Very funny, Arthur. I was just wondering if you’d noticed that your new employee has a crush on you.”  
Arthur spluttered, his face reddening, which was probably the effect that Morgana had hoped for. She leant back in her seat, waiting for him to recover.  
“He- what- Merlin does not have a crush on me!” he finally managed to say, not looking at her. Morgana rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.  
“Right. So I guess everyone’s face lights up like they’ve just entered Heaven at the mention of your name? It’s so obvious, even a blind man could see it.”  
Once the blood had stopped rushing in Arthur’s ears, or at least lessened, he tried to calm himself down, and levelled his voice.  
“Okay, let’s say he does have the remotest of feelings for me; what are you expecting me to do about it?”  
Morgana stood up, and made to leave.  
“Talk to him. Forget your idiotic policy of being antisocial at work and talk to him.”

6.  
Merlin and Arthur were back by the sea, this time to look at the house. The builders had done an excellent job of the place, but this was where Arthur took over and turned the house into a home.  
It was bare, and white, and cold, and Arthur couldn’t understand how Merlin could stand the temperature in his thin cardigan; Arthur was shivering in his jacket.  
They were in an empty bedroom. Merlin was gazing out at the sea from the window. Arthur watched him from the door, watching the light drench Merlin in pinks and reds and yellows, emphasising the shadows across the ridges of his spine, his shoulder blades, both visible through his shabby clothing. Arthur wished he’d had a camera on him, but it felt more special this way, more private; he didn’t have to share this with anyone else.  
“When did you realise?”  
Merlin turned around, a look in his eyes that made it seem that he had forgotten that Arthur was there at all.  
“Realise what?”  
“That you’re… you know.”  
Merlin crossed his arms and walked over to Arthur, the air between them crackling.  
“That I’m what?”  
Arthur didn’t know how to phrase this, and he mentally kicked himself for listening to Morgana in the first place. He made a note to not ask questions in future, just as he had always done, and braced himself for the current issue in hand.  
“That you’re… gay.”  
Merlin made a choking noise, as though he had been holding his breath the entire time, and tried to swallow at the same time.  
“What the ever-loving hell?” was all Merlin said, before brushing past Arthur and making his way downstairs. Arthur stood there for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened.  
“That went well.”  
Merlin was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace when Arthur walked in with two mugs and a thermos of coffee. He seated himself beside Merlin, uncapped the flask and poured out the steaming beverage, the rich aroma of coffee blending in with the smokiness of the fire. It was comforting, it was simple - it was perfect.  
Arthur wrapped his icy fingers around his mug, shivering from the contrast of the hot and cold.  
“I’m sorry, M.”  
Merlin didn’t say anything for a very long time, and Arthur was beginning to wonder if it was possible to be frozen to death internally, but then Merlin picked his drink up, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief.  
“When I was in school - I went to an all boy’s school - the guys would call me names. Fag. Cock sucker. There were more, but they were the kinder ones.”  
Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear this story, but he’d realised that in the time that they’d known one another, it was always Arthur that did the talking. Tonight, it was Merlin’s turn to let Arthur into his life.  
“I didn’t understand why they said what they did; I had no interest in boys. Not like that anyway, and definitely not any of the pricks that went to my school.” Merlin gave a small laugh at that. “I was different, and they were afraid. I didn’t like sports, or running around crotch first after girls. I liked being by myself, I liked art and music; the beautiful things. ‘Gay’ things, they’d say.”  
“Merlin, I-”  
“I don’t like labels. I don’t like the idea of having to fit into someone’s stereotype. So no, Arthur, I’m not gay. I’m not anything. I’m just me.”  
They were painting the main bedroom; shades of ocean blue and greys and hints of green. Arthur took one look at the paint when Merlin opened the tin, and wondered what it was that made him feel like he was looking at something so ridiculously familiar. It was only when three out of four walls had been painted did Arthur realise that it was the exact same colour as Merlin’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  
Arthur could hear music emitting from Merlin’s paint splattered headphones - if music was classified as continuous heavy drumming.  
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice was quiet, and he was sure that Merlin couldn’t hear him, but he must have, because Arthur could hear the volume of the music decreasing.  
“Yes, Arthur?”  
“Why did you kiss me?”  
Merlin took his headphones off and placed them on the ladder and shrugged, the strap of his dungaree slipping.  
“I don’t know.”

7.  
Before Arthur knew it, it was already approaching Christmas, the deadline for his current joint project with Merlin. “But more importantly,” Morgana said pointedly, “It’s almost my favourite time of year, the Christmas work party, and you know how I enjoy preparing it.” “Keep it simple, please,” Arthur said to her, knowing she wasn’t even listening to him, but was mentally planning lavish decorations and ridiculous drunken games for them to partake in.  
Christmas had always been quiet for Arthur. Although Morgana, Gwaine and Olivia would come over on Christmas Eve and spend the night to help fill out any gaps under the tree, and they would create more noise than Arthur would ever make in a year, Arthur felt isolated from it all. They were like the perfect family, snuggling up on the sofa together, Olivia winding tinsel through Morgana’s hair as she kissed Gwaine, eventually falling asleep on each other’s laps, making gentle snoring sounds. Arthur had never had that, growing up. His father had been distant and formal, and Arthur had thought that was how Christmas was supposed to be.  
He wasn’t expecting anything different this year.  
Arthur arrived at ArchiPen on the morning of the party to see that a volcano of decorations had exploded within the building. Shaking the tinsel off the handle, he opened the door to only be showered by a bucket of glitter. The cold feeling on his cheeks made Arthur realise that it wasn’t just glitter, but also glue. Great.  
“MORGANA!”  
Morgana and, to Arthur’s bemusement, Merlin appeared from around the corner, giggling at Arthur’s resemblance to a fireplace ornament.  
“Morgana,” he said slowly, brushing the glitter out of his hair, “I told you to decorate the office, not plant glitter bombs in every corner.”  
“Oh, they’re not everywhere, don’t worry,” Morgana replied sweetly, “only your office.” And with that, she dived away from a growling Arthur, only to pop her head back to say, “Mistletoe! M, now’s your chance.”  
Arthur was, at this point, extremely grateful that Merlin wasn’t looking at him, because he was sure that his face was just as red as Merlin’s was. Giving a cheery wave, Morgana left, whistling ‘Jingle Bell Rock’.  
Arthur headed over to his desk, partly to hide his face and to keep himself busy. He imagined Merlin standing there awkwardly, his brain trying to catch up with his mouth of what he wanted to say.  
“Umm… Merry Christmas.”  
“Merlin, there’s still four days to go until Christmas. I think it’s a bit early for that.”  
Arthur could feel Merlin walking closer, and stood up straight, keeping his back to him.  
“I know, I just… I wanted to give you this.”  
Arthur turned around to see Merlin’s hand outstretched, holding a flat package out to him. Arthur took it, smiling at the delicate drawing on it of Merlin dressed as Santa, sliding down the chimney. The package began to sparkle, and Merlin laughed as Arthur swatted at his hair to get rid of the glitter. Merlin stepped forward and began to help, so Arthur let his hand drop as Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, which, actually, felt really relaxing. Arthur felt a slight pang of disappointment when Merlin had finally gotten rid of it all.  
“So I’ll see you at the party later?” There was a hint of hope in Merlin’s voice, or maybe Arthur was just imagining it, wanting it to be there.  
“Of course I’ll be there, Merlin, I’m the host.” There was something about this Merlin, away from the sea and the house, which made Arthur wonder why he was wasting his time feeling anything for the bumbling idiot.  
“Right,” Merlin gave an embarrassed laugh, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, rubbing it. Arthur had noticed this over the period of months that Merlin had been working at ArchiPen, and had self diagnosed it as a nervous disposition. A kind of endearing one, at that. He often wondered what it would be like to kiss that neck, lick it, whisper dirty things into the skin of it and smiling triumphantly as Merlin would moan for more.  
“Well. Thank you.” Merlin nodded, and took it as a sign to leave.  
Arthur waited until he could see Merlin walk away through the blinds, and carefully peeled open the package. It was very light, and had a note on the back saying, ‘Treat with care!’ Tipping the contents out, he saw several sheets of paintings, like the first one he had received from Merlin:  
Arthur sitting at the edge of the pier; Merlin and Arthur walking along the sea with chips in hand; and lastly, a view of the house, as though Merlin had stood in the water to see what the perspective would be.  
Arthur opened a drawer and placed the paintings carefully alongside the many others.  
The party was already in full swing when Arthur arrived, and he spotted Morgana tottering over black heels that looked more like a vicious weapon than a fashion accessory. When she reached him, she’d somehow managed to trip on thin air, and he caught her by the arm, helping her keep her balance.  
“Morgana,” he hissed. “You can’t be drunk already? It’s only 9 o’ clock!”  
Morgana swatted Arthur’s arm away and handed him her glass.  
“Oh loosen up, Art, it’s almost Christmas. Have a drink.”  
Arthur eyed the lipstick smudge on the rim of her glass.  
“Thanks, but… I think I’ll get a cleaner one.”  
Leaving her huffing to no one in particular, Arthur weaved through the crowd, having spotted a flash of messy black hair somewhere nearby.  
“Hey,” Arthur felt apprehensive, suddenly. This wasn’t work, really, and they weren’t by themselves, it was something in between, and Arthur didn’t know what to say.  
“Arthur! I’ve been looking for you.” Merlin’s voice was slurred, and deeper, and, Arthur thought after a moment, pretty sexy.  
“Merlin, don’t tell me you’re drunk as well?” He took it as a confirmation when Merlin slumped against Arthur, his breath warm and tickling Arthur’s neck.  
“I am not drunk,” he said indignantly, as Arthur pulled Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, and helped him across to a table. “I’m just having fun, Arthur Pendragon.”  
Merlin fell back on a seat, slumping onto the table, his head buried in his arms. Arthur was sure that if he didn’t keep him talking, he would fall asleep there and then. But he did look cute, with his hair all rumpled like that, his gorgeous cheekbones turning pink.  
“Sure, you look like you’re having the time of your life there, M. God, you party animal.” Arthur had to choke back his laughter as Merlin emerged from his slump, a cheeky grin on his face.  
“What is it?”  
“I’ve had the time of my life,” Merlin began, rising from his seat, his eyes locked on Arthur.  
“Oh God no, please M, not here.” Arthur began to sink his seat, hoping no one would hear Merlin’s voice over the din.  
“No, I’ve never felt like this before. Yes, I swear it’s the truth, and I owe it all to youuu.”  
Merlin was down on his knees at this point, still drunk, still unfairly cute, and close to dead if he carried on.  
“Okay, we’re leaving! Come on, up you get.” Arthur pulled Merlin up by the arms, and helped him through the crowd, Arthur’s hand feeling particularly hot and sweaty now that it was tight in Merlin’s grasp, but he reminded himself that Merlin was too drunk to notice, or even care.  
“Right, Merlin. I’m going to take you home, okay?”  
Merlin gave a sleepy nod and a content sigh as he nuzzled his head onto Arthur’s shoulder. In turn, Arthur gave a not unfriendly sigh, wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist and directed him towards the car.  
“Bu-but Arthur, you can’t miss the-”  
“Shh.” Arthur’s tone was soothing, and Merlin willingly allowed himself to be helped into the back seat of Arthur’s silver BMW.  
Strapping Merlin in, Arthur got into the driver’s seat, and set off, before realising that he didn’t actually know where Merlin lived.  
“Hey M, what’s your address?” No response.  
“Merlin?”  
Arthur turned to see Merlin’s head lolling against the window, snoring gently, his rose pink lips parted slightly.  
Arthur rolled his eyes, and turned back to face the road, considering the possibilities. The only possibility being that he had no choice but to take Merlin back to his own apartment.  
The journey was quiet, and conversations were very much one sided, but that didn’t stop Arthur from enjoying himself.  
“Merlin, you really are an idiot.”  
“How did I end up with a prat for a co-worker?”  
And then:  
“You’re not that bad, really.”  
“Truth be told, you’re probably the closest I have to a friend.”  
Saying it aloud loosened the knot that had had a hold over Arthur’s heart for the past few months, but he knew it wouldn’t go away completely unless he’d said those things when Merlin wasn’t quite so intoxicated.  
Arthur parked and turned the engine off, the only sounds being that of the rustling of the leaves and the gentle breathing of Merlin. Arthur sat there for a moment, wondering if he should’ve left Merlin at the party to serenade other people, but decided that was too cruel, even for him.  
He climbed out and opened the passenger door, shaking Merlin by the shoulder.  
“Merlin, wake up. Merlin?” He continued to do this for a few minutes before Merlin even stirred, his brows furrowed.  
“No…don’t wanna…”  
“Oh, for God’s sake, M.”  
Arthur pulled Merlin out by the arms, Merlin being of no help at all, causing him to hit his head on the frame of the car.  
“Ow!”  
“Jesus, Merlin. Ready to go?”  
“Huh?”  
Before he could say anything, Arthur scooped Merlin up in his arms, making him seem weightless. Merlin hunched in on himself, using Arthur as a heater against the cold. The feel of Merlin clutching at his sweater, his face buried into Arthur’s chest, made Arthur’s skin burn, and he was sure that Merlin could feel the way that Arthur’s heart was ready to leap out of his body.  
Sooner than he had hoped, they had reached the door of Arthur’s apartment, leading him to another problem; retrieving the keys from his pocket and opening the door with Merlin still in his arms.  
“Merlin, I’m going to have to put you down, now.”  
“No.”  
“I have to open the door, M. I need you to stand by yourself for a minute.”  
Merlin reluctantly peeled himself away from Arthur. And lay down on the ground, using his jacket hood as a pillow. Arthur snorted, and fished his keys out, opening the door to complete darkness.  
“Do you want me to carry you inside?”  
Merlin didn’t respond, but stood with such a look of resolution on his face that Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.  
“I’ll take that as a no?”  
Arthur went ahead in search of the light switch, only to come running back to find Merlin sprawled on the floor, wire tangled around his feet and a now broken lamp beside his head.  
“Merlin Emrys, you are going to get yourself killed with your drunken idiocy, I swear.”  
Merlin continued groaning and rubbing his head in self pity, making Arthur roll his eyes.  
“C’mon, we’re almost there.” He picked Merlin up again and flung him over his shoulder with such ease that Merlin made an ‘ooft!’ noise.  
Arthur’s room wasn’t large by any means - he preferred compact rooms - but it was comfortably so, and big enough for a double bed. He pulled the covers back and carefully lay Merlin down, before peeling his shoes off. Merlin immediately curled up on his side and fell asleep, and Arthur was half expecting him to start sucking his thumb because he looked so childlike. Brushing the hair away from Merlin’s eyes, Arthur pulled the covers back over him, and set about creating a makeshift bed on the floor. The carpet was soft, thankfully, and he had acquired a large collection of cushions from Olivia’s fort making hobby, so it was only a matter of time before Arthur’s breathing matched Merlin’s, and they were both fast asleep.

8.  
It was the sunlight that awoke Merlin, coating his face with its golden rays. He rolled over, expecting the inevitable drop where his face would meet the ground, but it didn’t.  
Huh.  
He rolled around experimentally, wondering if he was still asleep, then realised he must’ve reached an all time low if he was dreaming about rolling around in bed.  
Then came the inevitable drop.  
Except this time his face met another person’s face. Arthur’s.  
“Merlin!”  
Arthur’s eyes shot open, slightly crossed from trying to focus on Merlin.  
“Shit, I really am dreaming.”  
“What the hell are you talking about?!”  
“It’s just that… you’re here, and I’m on top of you, and-”  
“You pervert, I don’t want to hear about your wank fantasies. This isn’t a dream, you absolute pillock.”  
“Then what am I doing here?”  
“Don’t ask me, I’ll remember to put you in the cot next time so you don’t fall out.”  
Arthur pushed Merlin away, whose head was thumping beyond belief, and he lay down next to Arthur.  
“No, I mean, where am I? What happened?”  
Arthur turned his head, an expression of disbelief on his face.  
“You don’t remember any of it? It must’ve been the bump on your head that did it.”  
Well, that explained the headache, at least.  
“You were out of it at the party yesterday; I had to bring you back to my place because you fell asleep before I could ask where you live.”  
Merlin sat up, taking in his surroundings.  
“This is your place?”  
Arthur followed suit, and began to fold his blanket.  
“Yes, but don’t get too used to it, that’s the last time I’m saving you from your drunken antics.”  
Putting the cushions and blanket away, Arthur tidied the bed, and nodded towards the wardrobe.  
“You can borrow some clothes if you want to take a shower. We don’t want you going back home smelling like that.”  
Merlin sniffed his jumper, and decided that he must’ve fed his clothes alcohol, as well.  
“Thanks. If it’s not a problem.”  
Arthur waved a hand in his direction, and padded out of the room, leaving Merlin to browse. Not only were Arthur’s clothes colour co coordinated, but were also placed in season and label. Careful not to crease anything, Merlin finally decided on a long sleeved black t-shirt, charcoal grey trousers and a long skinny grey scarf. The idea of wearing colour co coordinated clothes was beginning to appeal to Merlin.  
Arthur returned with only a towel wrapped around him, his hair damp, his skin looking delectable and soft and pink. Arthur seemed completely oblivious to Merlin’s discomfort.  
“You can go ahead, if you want.”  
Merlin realised that Arthur meant he could go ahead and shower; he was not suddenly psychic and realised that Merlin wanted nothing more than to fuck him into the mattress.  
“Right. Umm. I’ll be back in a bit.”  
Merlin returned twenty minutes later to see Arthur in his boxers, and nothing else.  
‘Dear God, Jesus, Buddha, whoever is out there, please, please help me,’ Merlin thought frantically as he watched Arthur’s torso with more interest than he should.  
“Hey, I need your help with something.”  
Arthur walked over to his wardrobe, and pulled out two shirts that were the exact same shade of hideous green.  
“This one,” he placed the first one in front of him. “Or this one?”  
Merlin frowned, wondering if Arthur was joking or not.  
“They look exactly the same.”  
“Sure, but the brand says everything about a guy.”  
Merlin snorted, realising that Arthur was that kind of person.  
“You pretentious git, they’re both horrific, okay?” He walked over to the wardrobe and picked out another shirt.  
“See this one? This one goes great with your eyes. These ones?” He pointed to the ones Arthur was holding. “They’d go well with vomit.”  
“My father bought them for me.”  
Arthur’s voice was quiet, and Merlin felt as though he’d kicked several puppies. Repetitively.  
“Arthur, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  
Merlin was sure he was dreaming now, as he felt lips brush against his and hands around his waist. He wasn’t sure what it was that he did to deserve this, but Hell, he wasn’t going to complain about it. Pulling Arthur closer in, his hands explored his body, the ripples of his muscles, his shoulder blades, his collarbone. But then Arthur pulled away, a cheeky grin on his face.  
“It’s a shame you don’t like men that way, eh, M?”  
Arthur walked out whistling, obviously pleased with the fact that he had left Merlin with the most painful erection he had faced to date.  
Arthur was still grinning like the Cheshire cat as he drove Merlin home, and Merlin was caught between wanting to punch him and kissing him until he was sorry. They stopped outside a house with a garden that was bursting with colour, and Merlin grinned triumphantly as Arthur gaped.  
“Beautiful, isn’t it? The house isn‘t much, but mum does what she can to make it nicer.”  
“Nicer? It’s like summer in physical form.” Arthur peered at the hunched figure tending to the bushes. “Is that your mother?”  
Merlin nodded, and gave a wave as she straightened up and spotted him. It was cute, really, how enthusiastic their greetings were, as though they hadn’t seen one another for other a year. Merlin turned back to Arthur, and took in his curious expression.  
“What is it?”  
Arthur tore his eyes away from the figure in the distance.  
“I was… I was just wondering about my own mother.”  
“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was sad, and he took Arthur’s hand and squeezed it, which didn’t really solve anything, but made Arthur feel that at least someone cared.  
“Would… would you like to meet her?”  
Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand in return and plastered a smile on his face. It only seemed fair.  
“I’d love to.”  
Ms Emrys had retreated inside by this time, only to be replaced by a boy of around the age of ten, who, Merlin said, was his little brother Will. Arthur put a hand out to shake with a solemnly polite “hello”, and both Merlin and Will burst into peals of laughter.  
“What?”  
“Is that how you always greet kids?”  
Arthur felt thoroughly wrong footed.  
“No, but I don’t have much experience with children other than Olivia.”  
“That explains a lot,” Merlin agreed, as Will pretended to shoot them with his air gun.  
“Will, go and bother someone your own size, okay?”  
“Is he your boyfriend?”  
“Shut up, Will.”  
“Is he, though?”  
Merlin strode into the house, and Arthur scurried after him, giving Will an apologetic smile.  
“Mum? I’m home!”  
Merlin took Arthur’s jacket and hung it on the banister as Arthur took in his surroundings. Merlin was right when he said it wasn’t much; it was small and simple, but Arthur loved it. The walls were adorned with photos of the boys growing up, and there were little ornaments on almost every flat surface. Arthur suspected that the fridge door would be covered with sheets of drawings. The house was made up of love, and that was something even the greatest of architects could not recreate.  
Ms Emrys emerged from the kitchen, flour already in her hair. She wasn’t tall, and she wasn’t chubby, but there was something about her that reminded Arthur of Mrs Weasley; he felt like he was Harry, coming to the Burrow for the first time, coming to a place that felt like home.  
“Mum, this is Arthur.”  
She pulled him into a tight hug; her hair smelt of strawberries and home baking.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Emrys.”  
“Please, everyone calls me Hunith.”  
She let go and looked at Arthur in a way that made him feel like he was being assessed.  
“Would you like something to eat? I was just making apple pie.”  
“Oh, no-” Merlin nudged him and widened his eyes.  
“I mean, if that’s okay.”  
Hunith’s face split into a smile and told him to take a seat and make himself at home. Merlin followed Hunith, leaving Arthur to browse over the photos that stood on the mantelpiece. Merlin’s 5th birthday, Hunith in hospital after Will was born, the three of them at Merlin’s graduation. Arthur thought about his own house; empty in comparison, with no love at all. Now that he thought about it, it was actually very lonely.  
It wasn’t much fun, sitting by himself, so Arthur made his way to the kitchen, which was now emitting delicious wafts of pie, and he nudged the door open a crack to see Merlin and Hunith deep in conversation.  
“-not my boyfriend, mum. We just work together.”  
“Come on, Merlin, I saw the way he looks at you, you’re not just a co-worker to him.”  
“Mum. Stop. Whatever ridiculous notion you have about Arthur, just….don’t.”  
“Okay….but he would make a lovely son-in-law, I can see it already.”  
“Mum!”  
Arthur opened the door at the point, trying to stop his heart from pounding its way out of his body.  
“Anything I can help with?”  
Arthur left the Emrys household several hours later, his shirt not quite loose fitting anymore, and Hunith pressing him with food to take home (“And a little extra for that niece of yours.”) Merlin walked him to the car, watching as Arthur buckled himself in.  
“Thanks for today,” Merlin said, bending down to reach Arthur’s level. “It was…fun.”  
“No. Thank you.” Arthur didn’t say anything else, but Merlin understood.  
“So I’ll see you around?” There was a hint of hope in Merlin’s voice, and the corners of Arthur’s lips couldn’t help but tug into a smile.  
“We work together, idiot.” He started the car and ducked his head out of the car. “I’ll text you.”  
Merlin gave an awkward half-wave half-salute, and watched as Arthur drove away.  
Arthur had six missed calls and God knew how many texts by the time he had fallen back on his bed. He dialled the number, and gave a heavy sigh.  
“Hello, Morgana.”  
“Arthur? Where the hell have you been, I’ve been trying to get through to you all morning!”  
Arthur heard squealing in the background and a roar, and could imagine Gwaine tickling Olivia mercilessly for having pulled in his hair, as she always did.  
“Yeah, sorry. I was out. Won’t happen again.”  
“Out where?”  
“What is this, the inquisition? I was with Merlin, if you must know.”  
Arthur instantly knew this was the wrong thing to say as Morgana’s squeals matched her daughter’s.  
“I knew it!” she crowed triumphantly. “Gwen saw you two sneak out early from the party yesterday. You two had your own party all night, didn’t you, you little sex monkey?”  
“Oh my God, Morgana, you’ve got it all wrong-”  
“Whatever you say, Arthur, whatever you say.”  
Arthur sighed, knowing she would never listen.  
“So why did you call me, anyway?”  
“Oh! I was wondering if you’d like to spend Christmas with us this year? Gwaine would love the male company.”  
They both knew that wasn’t the real reason why she was inviting him.  
“That sounds great, but…I already said yes to Merl-”  
“Arthur Pendragon,” Morgana cut in. “You really need to do better than that if you expect me not to believe that you two are secretly dating when he invites you over for Christmas. God, Arthur, he is totally smitten for you!”  
“Of course. If that’s it, I have to go now, Morgana.”  
“Right, right, people to see, Merlins to fuck, I understand.”  
“Morgana-!”  
“Bye, Arthur,” she sang, and hung up, leaving Arthur fuming. He popped his phone back in his shirt pocket, only to feel a ball of paper at the bottom. He took it out and unfolded it, his eyes scanning over it again and again, the words soon imprinted in his mind.  
‘Sometimes, on our way through the world, we meet someone who touches our heart in a way others don’t.’

9.  
Having text Merlin on Christmas morning telling him that he had something to do, and he would probably be late, could he send his apologies to Hunith, Arthur made his way back to the house, back to the sea.  
The smell in the air, the familiarity of it all sent memories reeling through Arthur’s mind; this was where he and his mother would place their deck chairs. Here was the spot where he had sat to see his first sunset. And over there was where Merlin had kissed him for the first time. Arthur’s fingers went to his lips, the feel of Merlin’s clear to him, even now, after all this time.  
It’s a funny thing, reminiscing. Arthur could remember a time when he didn’t know Merlin, but now, he couldn’t imagine a future without him. He was the closest thing Arthur had to a friend.  
Arthur turned back and went inside the house, which was now completely renovated. It was beautiful, and everything Arthur had imagined it to be. He walked from room to room, remembering. This room was completed the day Merlin taught Arthur how to paint to music. That room was completed not long after Merlin had had a haircut, and kept insisting on wearing a hat, thinking it looked ridiculous. Here and there, he went, and no matter where he went, Merlin was there, and here, and it scared Arthur now because he would see Merlin in that sofa, or sitting in front of the fireplace. The image of him was burnt into Arthur until Merlin was all that he could see.  
“Arthur?”  
Arthur swivelled round, sure that his mind has reached its peak in hallucinations. But he was there, it was Merlin, pink cheeked and wearing a cardigan that Arthur was sure Hunith had knitted for him.  
“I thought you might be here. Morgana rang me asking to talk to you but obviously you weren’t there, so she went to your place and saw you weren’t there either, so I came straight here.”  
Merlin looked down at the ground, suddenly interested in his red scuffed converse.  
“I didn’t want you to be alone at Christmas.”  
Arthur hadn’t realised he was hugging Merlin until he caught the smell of aftershave, Christmas dinner, and a sweet scent that made Merlin different, special, unique.  
“Hey, you,” Merlin whispered in Arthur’s ear, causing a tear to escape from Arthur, and it was ridiculous because Arthur was happy.  
“Hey,” He pulled away, Merlin holding onto his shoulders as if letting him go would cause him to slip into nothing, negative space.  
And this time when they kissed, Arthur noticed that he had to stretch a little to reach Merlin and Merlin had to bend down a bit. He could sense that Merlin was thinking along the same lines, because he could feel a smile behind Merlin’s kiss, and he felt obliged to give Merlin a punch on the arm.  
“Mmph!” Merlin mumbled, and Arthur’s hand moved down to Merlin’s waist, to his hand, where their fingers intertwined - perfect fit. Arthur tugged at it, moved back to pull Merlin towards a different room. Merlin obediently followed, sitting down beside Arthur on the newly sheeted bed. It felt awkward to kiss like this, their bodies twisted sideways, and Arthur knew it was up to him to invite Merlin to come and snuggle up next to him on the pillows. He did, and they lay there on their sides, facing one another, so close that their noses brushed, and Arthur tilted his head to kiss Merlin. It was a kiss filled with promise, and realisation, and Arthur liked the way Merlin’s lips tasted better than candy, and the way his tongue was exploring Arthur’s mouth, and the fact that one hand had let go of Arthur’s to grip onto his hair.  
It felt like centuries later when they finally pulled away, their eyes locked on one another, Arthur’s fingers tracing Merlin’s collarbones, his tanned skin against Merlin’s pale skin, a wonderful contrast.  
“Merry Christmas,” Merlin finally said, still playing with Arthur’s hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”  
Arthur laughed at that because Merlin really had no idea how much he had given to him.  
“I have you.” It was a half question, half statement, and Merlin nodded, giving their hands a little shake.  
“You have me.”  
Arthur moved back to look at Merlin properly, a look of determination on his face.  
“Merlin, this house was built for me, by my father’s wishes.” Merlin didn’t say anything.  
“But every time I come here, I’m always here with you. And today, when you weren’t here, all I could think about was you. When you’re here, it becomes a home.”  
Arthur took a deep breath.  
“Will you live here? With me?”  
There was a shocked silence, and then Merlin lunged forward, laughing, hugging Arthur until he found it hard to breathe.  
“I love you.”  
Merlin’s eyes snapped open at what he had just said; he could feel Arthur stiffen in his arms.  
“I know.”  
Merlin looked at Arthur, who was looking sheepish.  
“How-?”  
“That night you slept round mine…well, you were sleep talking, and…you told me you loved me.”  
Arthur looked so smug at that.  
“You… you… clotpole!” Merlin burst out, making Arthur laugh harder than ever before, his head tilting back, his laugh infectious.  
“Clotpole, huh?” Arthur pushed Merlin onto the bed, feigning anger. “Now you’ve really done it, Merlin Emrys.”  
He pinned Merlin down into the pillows, their faces only inches apart. The grin slowly slid from Arthur’s face, only to mirror the look of curiosity on Merlin’s face. Slowly, Arthur let go of Merlin and began to unbutton his cardigan, his fingers trembling, though he tried not to show it. Merlin watched on as Arthur’s fingers worked deftly on his own shirt, and he threw it over the edge of the bed, his stomach muscles clenching.  
“I’ve wanted this… for the longest time,” Merlin whispered, Arthur’s lips moving from his neck, his collarbones, his nipples, with strokes that left Merlin’s skin hot and tingling, and his breath ragged. Arthur peered up at Merlin through his lashes, his eyes dark and tantalising, and Merlin shuddered as Arthur moved lower and lower, eventually reaching the waistband of his jeans, Merlin’s fingers gripping tightly at Arthur’s hair.  
“Please, Arthur…” Merlin’s voice was low, and Arthur knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, either. He unzipped Merlin’s jeans, his cock already hard in his boxers.  
“Turn,” he panted, slipping out of bed to take his own jeans off and frantically searching in the bedside drawer for the lube.  
“Arthur…”  
“I know.”  
Arthur slicked his fingers, and slipped one in at Merlin’s opening; tight and hot.  
“Oh God,” Merlin pushed back, wanting more, and Arthur slipped another finger in, using the other hand to wrap around Merlin’s cock, stroking it, feeling it grow thick and wet in his hand.  
“Want you… inside me,” Merlin gasped. “Want it.”  
Arthur draped himself over Merlin’s back, pressing kisses into his shoulder blade.  
“Who knew you could be so demanding?” he whispered, enjoying the feel of the heat crackling between them.  
“Dammit, Arthur, just-”  
Arthur pushed himself in, Merlin’s stifled whimpering only encouraging him to thrust harder, faster, and it was only a matter of moment before Merlin was coming over the sheets, groaning Arthur’s name, and soon Arthur was coming too, falling limp across his back, eyes shut, heart racing.  
“Merry… Christmas.”  
Arthur laughed, and rolled onto the bed, feeling breathless and ecstatic; capturing Merlin’s flushed cheeks and messed up hair in his mind.  
“Shut up, you idiot.” And then, “Perfect Christmas.”  
10.  
The obvious place to go back to was Merlin’s, because that was where Arthur was planning to spend Christmas. But what he wasn’t expecting to see was Hunith and Will seated at the table along with Morgana, Gwaine, Olivia, and, for some reason, Gwen and her fiancé, Lance.  
“What are you guys doing here?” Arthur’s question was more directed at Gwen and Lance, but Morgana answered before either of them could open their mouths.  
“I invited them to spend Christmas with us, so now we’re all here. Isn’t it great? Hunith‘s cooking far outstrips mine.”  
“You got that right,” Gwaine whispered under his breath, earning him a punch from Morgana.  
Hunith pulled up two chairs, and Merlin and Arthur sat down, painfully aware that everyone was watching them.  
“So did you get to do whatever it was that you were planning to do?” Lance asked, helping Hunith hand the food out. Arthur took a look at Merlin, and they grinned, like conspirators.  
“Yes, I did.”  
Merlin gave a shy laugh and looked down at his plate, and when no one was looking, Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s knee, and a few moments later, Merlin placed his hand on top of Arthur’s, his fingers soothingly stroking the area around Arthur’s ring.  
And then, when Will and Olivia had both fallen asleep on the sofa, curled up like kittens, and Gwaine brought out the wine, and Hunith brought along a delicious concoction of her own, Merlin and Arthur kissed beneath the mistletoe, showered with cheers, and, on Morgana’s and Gwen’s part, squealing.  
Perfect Christmas.  
New Year’s was for them, though. Merlin and Arthur. While everyone that they knew were at Trafalgar Square, watching the fireworks and counting down to midnight, they were at an old play park, on the swings, facing opposite directions, swinging higher and higher until all they could hear was the wind roaring in their ears, and they were both laughing, feeling as thought it could all collapse at any minute, but then it couldn’t, as well, because the world was theirs, and time was on their side.

11.  
Life is different when you have someone to share it with. The person you once thought you knew entirely is someone else completely when you see them every day, every hour.  
In the first week, Merlin learns that Arthur wakes up promptly at six every morning to go for a two mile jog; one mile to wherever he felt like going, and one mile back. He learns that Arthur’s musical taste is stuck in the 80’s, and that he loves cooking, and isn’t particularly keen on watching TV (“You always watch it when I do, though.” “I just like having a reason to be with you.”)  
Arthur learns that Merlin is an artist, and sets up one of the spare rooms as a studio, which is off limits to Arthur. He learns that Merlin eats like a horse, exercises once in a blue moon, and that the louder the music, the better.  
Sometimes, their personalities clash. Merlin is a vegetarian, Arthur is not. Arthur thrives on organisation, Merlin does not. They say nothing, but it bothers them ever so slightly, like the pebble in their shoe. But then at night, when they are in bed, and all that exists is the two of them, they realise how trivial everything is in the grand scale of things, and all that matters is here.  
12.  
The weeks bleed into months, and Merlin and Arthur fall into a routine. Arthur wakes up first, jogs, showers, dresses, prepares breakfast. Arthur enjoys the mornings because he gets to be alone, but also because he knows that Merlin will come downstairs and enjoy whatever it is that Arthur has lovingly prepared for him.  
Merlin makes his way downstairs half an hour later, showered, but still not dressed, wearing Arthur’s nightgown because it is so much cosier than his, and it smells of Arthur, and he knows Arthur likes seeing Merlin in his clothes.  
Merlin makes the two of them coffee, and as they listen to the dripping of the coffee machine, Merlin tells Arthur what he has planned for the day; being an interior designer, he has no need to go into work everyday.  
(“You went in everyday when you worked for me,” Arthur pointed out.  
“That‘s because I wanted to see you.”  
“Soppy git.”)  
On weekends, they do nothing, and everything, all at once. They fill their kitchen with goods from their raid at Sainsbury’s and bake cookies, bread, cake, burning it all because Arthur scoops Merlin up onto the breakfast bar, and teases him with kisses, but not touching, until Merlin undoes his robe and pulls Arthur close, the scent of aftershave strong in the air, his head tilted back, giddy with laughter, as Arthur kisses his neck, whispering how perfect he is.  
They sit in front of the TV in their pyjamas, shouting at the screen as they race each other round the track, Merlin sticking his tongue out at Arthur as he beats him three times in a row.  
They argue, make up, make out. Take walks through the park, holding hands, resting on their favourite bench, the one on the hill where they can look down and see everyone, but no one can see them unless they squint.  
It turns out that they both have an intense love for records and books, and so they spend endless hours at the old record store, pouring over the vinyls, holding heated discussions over which Beatle is the best, followed by trips to their favourite book store, where they pour over the book in the Arthurian legends section, re enacting the stories, ending with Arthur in fits of helpless laughter as Merlin sucks his lips in and pretends to be an old man with a hunch.  
They invite their friends over for drinks, charades, strip poker, embarrassing stories of what had happened to each of them throughout the week.  
And the weekend is over when their heads hit the pillows, and Merlin curls up against Arthur, his head buried into his chest, his fingers drawing pictures into Arthur’s skin, and Arthur pulls him tight until he can feel Merlin’s heart beat against his, and there is no music, but Arthur is humming a tuneless song, and then, they are shrouded by darkness and sleep.  
13.  
“I’ve been given a job offer,” Merlin said over breakfast, his eyes locked on Arthur, waiting for a reaction. There was a month to go until Christmas, and Arthur was on his Mac, booking a yacht cruise for their anniversary. Merlin had said no fuss this Christmas please, Arthur, we’ll just make it about you and me. It wasn’t like Arthur’s cheating, because it was going to be about just him and Merlin. On a yacht. Wherever they wanted to go.  
Arthur looked up, and watched Merlin watching him.  
“That’s great!”  
“In New York.”  
Arthur’s eyes widened.  
“New York? But what about Christmas? Our anniversary?”  
To be honest, Arthur didn’t care about Christmas, or their anniversary. Well, he did, obviously, but…he just wanted Merlin home.  
“I‘ll be home for Christmas.” Merlin got out of his seat and sat down beside Arthur. “It’s just. This is a really big opportunity for me, and I’ve always wanted to visit New York. And at Christmas? It’ll be beautiful.”  
“You’ve never told me you wanted to go to New York.” Arthur felt childish saying this, and Merlin probably thought so too, because he punched Arthur lightly on the arm, a half smile on his face.  
“You’ve never asked! Hey,” He slid onto Arthur’s lap, playing with the flicks of hair curling around Arthur’s ears, leaning his forehead against Arthur’s. “I love you, and I will miss you like hell, okay? So stop killing that ego of yours because I’ll have the worst time pining after you, and I won’t enjoy myself at all.”  
Arthur managed a laugh, and lifted his head so he could give Merlin a kiss, and Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck, something that Arthur was used to, but could never get enough of.  
“Promise you‘ll be back?”  
Merlin placed a hand over his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Arthur rolled his eyes and let Merlin slide off of his lap.  
“As long as my presents get back intact, that’s all I’m saying.”  
Arthur turned back to his laptop and finalised the yacht cruise. Another perfect Christmas, he could sense it.

14.  
Going from a life of having someone with you at all time to not having anyone, no matter how temporary, is a difficult process. Arthur wakes up at the same time, jogs, showers, dresses, prepares breakfast. He waits for Merlin to come downstairs until his food goes cold, and remembers. He misses Merlin’s mindless chatter, the way he would coax Arthur to be a few minutes late for work so that he could get a proper goodbye kiss.  
On the first weekend, he invites Morgana over, and Olivia keeps asking where Uncle Merlin is, and will he be home for Christmas? Morgana tells Arthur how adorable it is, him missing Merlin, and would be great if anyone missed her like that, glaring at a snoring Gwaine, her expression softening when Olivia climbed onto his shoulders and begins to plait the front of his hair.  
Merlin rings for the first time a week later. It’s almost midnight, and Arthur is in bed reading The Time Traveler’s Wife. Reading is something that Arthur thoroughly enjoys, but doesn’t find much time to do it in, because when he’s in bed with Merlin, his mind tends to get sidetracked.  
“Arthur?” The line is fuzzy, but Arthur’s heart leaps at the sound of the familiar voice, missing him more than ever.  
“Merlin!” Arthur’s own voice is breathless, and he’s been dying to ask Merlin all these questions, but now all he cares about is hearing his voice.  
“Arthur, New York is amazing. Next time I come here, I’m bringing you with me, whether you like it or not.”  
Arthur hears voices in the background, and Merlin saying, “Give me a minute.”  
“Arthur? I have to go now, I’m using a pay phone because I lost my phone and there’s a crazy French man telling me to either fuck myself or get out of the booth.”  
“Merlin, I-”  
“I miss you, I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon!” The line is dead, and Arthur is left saying “love you” to nothing.  
The phone rings on the morning of Merlin’s arrival. Arthur is pulling a scarf around his neck, his coat half on, sure that he is going to be late picking Merlin up from Heathrow. He picks it up, unsure as to if it is Merlin or not, because he would call on Arthur’s mobile.  
“Arthur Pendragon?” The voice is unfamiliar, and formal.  
“Hello. Who is this?”  
They introduce themselves, and proceed to inform Arthur they are sorry to tell him that there was an accident in the early hours in the morning, involving a plane crash.  
“Helplines are-”  
Arthur’s hangs up. Turns the TV on with shaking hands. The news channel is showing exactly what it is the woman had just told him.  
Nonononono.  
This is just a joke, a sick, twisted joke, someone’s crazy idea of humour, but only a small percentage of Arthur thinks that, because the rest of him is frozen, and his body is cold, colder than ever. He can feel the blood coursing through his veins, but it is frozen. He can’t even remember how it feels to be warm, to be-  
No.  
It can’t be true, it isn’t true, just a horrific nightmare that Arthur can’t wake himself from, no matter how much he can feel the tears stinging in his eyes, or how much his knees are hurting from having fallen onto the wooden floorboards because of them giving way.  
But it’s all superficial, really, because the one good thing that he could call his own was gone, and Arthur will never feel warm again.  
15.  
The wake takes place at Merlin’s favourite diner. He was a regular customer, and the owner is only too willing to let Arthur rent it out. He puts Morgana and Gwen in charge of decorations, the only condition being that they run every idea by Hunith; the signs of weakness are obvious in her, or maybe it is only apparent to Arthur because he has grown to know her better than she thinks.  
Arthur spends the next few days at Morgana’s house, sleeping in Olivia’s room, as she snuggles in with her parents. He gazes at the pink walls, the small makeup station where Olivia would often seat Merlin, sticking clips in his messy hair, applying blusher to his beautiful cheekbones. When he wakes up in the mornings, the pillow is damp, and his eyes remain puffy for the rest of the day.  
In his dreams, Merlin calls out for him. Arthur is gazing out of their bedroom window, scanning the night sky, watching as the stars appear one by one. And then, there’s Merlin, in the sea, in the wild grey sea, calling, screaming for Arthur to come, and suddenly Arthur finds himself standing outside bare feet, running as fast as he can, the sand soft beneath his feet, slowing him down. And no matter how fast he runs, or for how long, he can never quite reach Merlin, and then, as if by magic, Merlin disappears, and Arthur wakes up to find himself drenched in sweat, the left side of the bed untouched and empty.  
But Arthur can’t put it off for much longer, and Morgana needs the photos for the wake, and that is how Arthur finds himself standing outside of his house.  
His house, because he can’t go home when Merlin is gone.  
Arthur opens the front door, a wave of cold air rolling in with him, reaching every corner of the building, and every part of Arthur’s body. He is hit with a wave of exhaustion, even though it is only midday, and when he picks his feet up to walk, he can only bring himself to trudge along, up the stairs, past Merlin’s studio. It is only now that Arthur notices the door is slightly ajar, and he goes to close it, but his hand hesitates on the handle.  
Arthur wants to know Merlin, the side he never got to see. He wants to remind himself of all the reasons why he loves Merlin, because he’ll never stop loving him. He wants reasons beyond the surface, that everyone could see. Past the bright eyes that would gaze at Arthur with such intensity while they made love that Arthur felt as though he was the only person that existed in the world. Past the bony shoulder blades and the knobbly knees that Arthur would so lovingly press kisses into.  
He pushes the door open, the hinges creaking. The curtains are shut, making the room dark, and Arthur searches for a light. When he finds it, he gives out a startled gasp; the wallpaper’s replaced with photos, hundreds upon hundreds of photos, completely covering the walls. Arthur steps forward for a closer look; Merlin and Arthur sharing candy floss at the beach, the two of them wearing brightly coloured sunglasses and t-shirts that read, ‘I’M WITH MY BOYFRIEND’. Merlin and Olivia on a carousel, Will holding an Easter Egg almost half his size, their entire group at Thorpe Park.  
And then, there are people that Arthur does not even know. A couple drinking together at Costa, children on a slide, people waiting at a bus stop. There are so many photos, snapshots of Merlin’s life, and Arthur doesn’t recognise half of them, and it makes him realise that there is so much that he doesn’t know about Merlin, will never know.  
He tears his eyes away from the walls, and looks down to see a canvas painting of the house, and next to it, an intricate model of it. Arthur can imagine Merlin hunched over it, his tongue sticking out to one side, Death Cab blaring out of his headphones. He can imagine Merlin forgetting about lunch completely, so busy with his building. That’s the worst part- he’s imagining it all. None of it is probably real.  
Arthur leaves, closing the door firmly shut behind him, and finally goes back to his own room, the sheets still neat from the morning that Arthur received the phone call, the windows letting a thin stream of sunlight in. The room is suddenly awfully big, too big for Arthur, and it feels empty, even thought Merlin’s clothes are still strewn across the floor. Arthur picks one of Merlin’s sweaters up and holds it close, inhales it; it smells of summer, aftershave, a lingering sweet scent that Arthur has always associated with Merlin. For a moment, if he shuts his eyes hard enough, Arthur can imagine that Merlin is here with him, massaging his shoulders, playing with his hair, but then he opens his eyes and sees he is standing all alone.  
16.  
“Here.”  
Arthur is back at Morgana’s; Gwaine is at work and Olivia is at school. Gwen has stopped by to help with preparations.  
Arthur thrusts a powder blue box at Morgana, who takes it, a look of uncertainty on her face.  
“You want me to use all of the photos?”  
“No. You can use which pictures you want to use.” Morgana glances at Gwen, who gives her a look in return.  
“Arthur, come in.”  
They are sitting cross legged on the living room floor, now, and Morgana places the box in the middle of them.  
“Open it.”  
Arthur looks nervous.  
“What?”  
“Gwen nods encouragingly. “Open it, Arthur.”  
Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, hoping that when he opens them, the box has vanished, and so have Gwen and Morgana, only to be replaced by Merlin, giving that full smile that made his eyes crinkle and his eyes dance.  
But he opens them to see the pair still sitting, waiting expectantly. He pulls the box closer, and lifts the lid slowly.  
It is crammed with photos, polaroids and not, tiny scribbled doodles that Merlin often used to do when he was off in his own world, drawing on whatever was nearest to him; newspaper, envelopes, and once, a building proposal. Arthur would collect each one, a small piece of Merlin to keep for himself.  
Gwen is looking at them, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but a watery one.  
“Not those,” Arthur says sharply, and she drops it as though it is poker hot, and peers apologetically at him through her curls.  
Arthur picks up the first photo. It was taken not long ago, the morning of Gwen and Lance’s wedding. In it, Merlin is looking bemused, but ridiculously handsome in a black suit, his red tie unwilling to co operate with Merlin’s clumsy fingers. Arthur remembers calling Merlin an idiot, and using Merlin’s tie to pull him closer until their lips touched, and Arthur felt dizzy with happiness, imagining how it would go on their wedding day.  
“How about this one?” Morgana is pointing to one of Arthur giving Merlin a piggy back through the park, Merlin’s arms outstretched as though he was on the Titanic, his hair pulled back by the wind, his eyes half closed.  
“Oh I really like this one“” Gwen chimes in, showing one of Merlin and Arthur sitting in a tree, and the chants of Gwen and Lance singing, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” reverberating in his mind.  
“No.” Arthur snatches the photos back and closes the box. “Can I have some time alone to decide?”  
“Of course!” Gwen says earnestly, and drags Morgana up towards the kitchen. He listens to the murmurs from behind the door, and focuses on it, thinking that maybe if he ignores the hard lump in his throat, he won’t be able to feel himself break.  
“Arthur?” Morgana emerges from the kitchen a few minutes later. “Would you like something to drink? Arthur?”  
She hears the front door click shut, and the living room is empty, the box abandoned.  
17.  
The morning of the wake is sunny, but the New Year chill is heavy, and under normal circumstances, Arthur would have stayed in bed in his pyjamas, watching ridiculous movies with copious amounts of soup.  
But instead, he is suited up, suffocating from the stiffness of the shirt collar, slowly growing agitated with the tie. The doorbell rings, and he ignores it, concentrating on the tie, trying to remember how Uther had always taught him to knot it. The ringing continues, growing persistent, and eventually, Arthur goes to open the door, to reveal a delivery man.  
“Arthur Pendragon?” The man asks brusquely, his eyes lingering on Arthur’s hashed attempted of a knotted tie.  
“Yes?”  
“Parcel for you. If you could just sign here, and here.” He points to the spaces, and Arthur obliges. He doesn’t remember ordering anything.  
“Good day, sir.”  
Arthur nods absent mindedly, and takes the package inside. It’s large and flat, and he turns it over to see several stamps on it to reveal that it was sent from America.  
Fuck.  
Hands shaking, he unwraps it carefully, savouring the thought that Merlin had touched this, had sent this with only Arthur in mind, had remembered him while he was having fun in New York.  
It contained a canvas, a painting, a scrawl in the corner telling Arthur that this was Merlin’s own handiwork. An American cityscape, consisting of the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, skyscrapers and, in the middle of it all, their house, perfected down to the minute details. He turned the canvas over and saw a scrap of paper tucked in at the corner.  
A,  
Firstly, if I don’t get home before your present does, Merry Christmas! Secondly, I miss seeing your face every morning and it’s entirely your fault for being so goddamn gorgeous. Thirdly, the peanut butter over here is really fucking good.  
I’ve had time to think, being here, and I had an epiphany, want to hear it? Home is where you are. At the end of the day, I don’t care where I am. I could be in London, New York, Australia, I don’t know where. But none of it means anything if you’re not there with me. I hope you know that. Just how much you mean to me.  
I can’t wait to see you again.  
I love you, I love you, I love you.  
M.  
Arthur’s eyes are dry, and he turns the canvas back over, his heart elated, honoured to have had the chance to love Merlin at all.

18.  
“Merlin was a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He was, and always will be like the brother I’d never had. He was always there, always caring, always smiling. He refused to see the negativity in anything; Merlin had this way of turning the worst of things into something positive.”  
Lance’s voice is calm, soothing. Arthur is surprised that he has so much to say about Merlin, but later, when the ceremony is over, Gwen tells him that Merlin was the only other person Lance would confide in other than herself. He feels selfish, not knowing this small piece of information; Merlin liked talking about Arthur, and Arthur enjoyed talking about himself, and yet they never really spoke about Merlin. Did Arthur know him at all?  
He looks around the room each seat taken, some people left standing. There is Hunith, her face cry, not a single tear shed, because tears aren’t necessary for her; she feels dead inside. Gwen is crying quietly, and Morgana is hugging her, whispering words of comfort in her ear; Arthur wanted Merlin to whisper words of comfort in his ear, and tell him that it’s all okay, just one dumb joke that went wrong. Olivia is holding onto Gwaine, unsure as to what is going on.  
Arthur turns back to the front and sees that Lance has finished, which means that it is Arthur’s turn to go up. He feels sick and shaky, and his mouth is clamming up. As he walks up, he can feel hundreds of eyes boring into his back, and when he reaches the podium, it’s shocking to see just how many people have turned up.  
(Merlin would‘ve made a crude joke about touching people, and Arthur would‘ve told him to shut up.)  
Arthur looks down at his sheet of paper, none of it making any sense, his neat writing looking like mindless patterns on the page. He decides to go without.  
“Merlin was…He was my best friend. My first real friend, the person who made me realise what it is to love. My first. But he was so much more than that. He was compassionate, he was opinionated, he loved, he hated. He was human. He…” Arthur remembers something, and gives a pained laugh. “When I was getting to know him, I asked Merlin if he was gay. He said that he didn‘t believe in labels, which explains his awful dress sense, I guess.” He looks up and sees a smile on Hunith’s face.  
“Meeting Merlin was probably both the best and worst thing to happen to me, but either way, I’m lucky to have had him at all, because a person like Merlin will only come to you once in a lifetime.”  
Arthur’s voice breaks then, and he goes back to his seat, the eyes following him again, this time with sympathy.  
Arthur doesn’t want sympathy. He wants Merlin.  
19.  
The waves crash against one another, the smell of salt strong and mingling in the air. The sea is angry, and violent, and a mysterious shade of blue, dulling the sky down in comparison, a pale blue, broken up with grey clouds.  
And down by the sea, below the pier, standing resolutely with his back to the world, is Arthur, his scarf pulled tightly around him, his coat buttoned up to the top. His hair is damp from the crashes of the waves and his face is pale from the cold, but he continues to stand there until he cannot see the strewn ashes at all. All that he can see of the water is the reflection of the moon.


End file.
